


Writhe

by CGotAnAccount



Series: Slither [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Momentary Snake Rage, Naga Shiro, Sequel to Phantasssmal, Soup, possessive shiro, smutty epilogue, snake dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26962762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: Keith didn't really expect to go from having his own nice (probably haunted) room with his own fluffy (probably cursed) bed to sleeping in a hastily constructed shanty slap-dashed onto the side of a ramshackle old country-home in the middle of nowhere.Even being woken up by the occasional curious possum isn't too terrible – though he can't say he wasn't just a touch squeamish watching Shiro's clawed hand dart out and snatch the thing before his jaw unhinged and he swallowed it whole. After a week of sharing loaves of bread he'd pretty well forgotten that his new... boyfriend (Snakefriend? Boysnake?) was, well...A giant and terrifying monster that could and may yet still flay him alive and spend a nice afternoon sucking the marrow from his bones – and that's if he feels like playing with his food, otherwise he might just get swallowed down in one gulp, and not in the way he was imagining.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Slither [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967590
Comments: 32
Kudos: 156





	Writhe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QuantumAbyss_mal (lonestarjdv)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonestarjdv/gifts).



> For Quantum - who was one of the lucky winners of the 300 follower giveaway! <3

As it turns out, the Blades of Marmora are less 'super secret spy syndicate' and more 'ragtag groups of mercenaries who happen to hate Zarkon.' Which isn't necessarily a _bad_ thing... it's just...

Keith didn't really expect to go from having his own nice (probably haunted) room with his own fluffy (probably cursed) bed to sleeping in a hastily constructed shanty slap-dashed onto the side of a ramshackle old country-home in the middle of nowhere.

It's not even the middle of nowhere part that gets him – that he can understand, what with the whole 'just burned down the most famous manor in the country' thing. Even being woken up by the occasional curious possum isn't too terrible – though he can't say he wasn't just a touch squeamish watching Shiro's clawed hand dart out and snatch the thing before his jaw unhinged and he swallowed it whole. After a week of sharing loaves of bread he'd pretty well forgotten that his new... boyfriend (Snakefriend? Boysnake?) was, well...

A giant and terrifying monster that could and may yet still flay him alive and spend a nice afternoon sucking the marrow from his bones – and that's if he feels like playing with his food, otherwise he might just get swallowed down in one gulp, and not in the way he was imagining.

He knows that Ulaz is not particularly keen on the current sleeping arrangements, insisting that Keith should be inside in one of the main rooms where it's warmer – but Shiro had curled so miserably around him at the suggestion that Keith managed to convince them that they'd be fine in their little off-building. Far enough from the stable not to frighten the horses, close enough to the interior wall that neither Keith nor his cold-blooded paramour are at risk of freezing at night. Really it's the best of both worlds.

It doesn't hurt that their afterthought of a shanty affords them some much needed privacy as well. With the exception of the short-lived possum they've been blessedly free from prying eyes wanting to take a peek at the naga's glimmering scales and the 'snake-fucker scribe' – which, honestly... you'd think the other blades would be a little more creative than that... he's not even really a scribe, he'd dug graves longer than he'd been in that haunted hell hole. And as for the other half... Shiro might be in whatever a rut is, but so far he's been perfectly content to wrap himself around Keith and nap the chilly weather away. Of course, the weather itself is the likely culprit for his sudden lethargy, but it's not like he wasn't napping half the day in his tank anyway, so who really knows what makes a snake want to fuck his fist in front of a gawking admirer?

Certainly not Keith, who seems to have been relegated to the role of space heater for the foreseeable future. He's painfully aware of the power in those coils even as they rest gently around him, which makes it less than tempting to go poking and prodding trying to get a reaction out of the naga who he's really _known_ for less than a week now. Still, he'd like to get out of their little shanty and get some answers about everything that's been going on one way or another, and that's awfully hard to do with a giant clingy reptile trying to leech the heat from his bones.

As luck would have it, that particular clingy reptile happens to be asleep – or whatever he does when his breathing drops to near nothing and his face goes all lax and adorable – leaving Keith free to wriggle himself out of the looping coils pinning him to the naga's lap... lap? Does he even have a lap?

Whatever.

Either way, it's time to get out of their drafty build-out and find out what the hell is going on. Of course, step one is to actually do the wriggling, which is easier said than done when the rippling mass of muscles seems to be aware of him even in sleep, coils tightening around him each time he tries to slip free.

But Keith didn't spend half his life skulking in rat filled streets without learning a thing or two about getting out of tight spots. He keeps his sigh carefully low as he stretches out an arm, snatching up a bundle of blankets that had been cast aside sometime during the night. It's an easy thing to wedge them between his hips and the coils, fold by fold until there's enough room to slide himself free. Of course, as soon as he does the coils tighten around the blanket mass with a quiet hiss of scales on the wood floor, accompanied by a grumbling snort from the snake-man himself as he clutches the top of the blanket bundle in his arms to nuzzle.

Cute.

But not cute enough to play teddy bear all day.

The floorboards creak as he tiptoes from the room, and the door makes this awful groaning sound that he's _certain_ will wake Shiro up, but when he peeks sheepishly over his shoulder the naga is still snoozing peacefully, little hissing sighs escaping him on each exhale. Keith thanks his lucky stars and slips out the door, letting it shut behind him with another awful groan.

And then he's free. He stops to stretch his limbs in the narrow hallway, cramped after being squeezed so long, and trots off toward where he knows the kitchens should be bustling. Judging by the light filtering in through the dirty windows it should be just about breakfast time – the perfect time to catch at least one person who might know what's going on around here.

As expected, the ragtag troupe of blades are gathered around a long oaken table ladling out portions of broth and sawing loaves of bread into thick slices smeared with generous helpings of butter. It's a far cry from the meat he had been served in the manor, but the fact that it tastes like anything at all and isn't slowly sucking his soul away wins them a few points. He's handed a bowl and a slice as he approaches one end of the table and remains ever grateful that his affiliation with the oddity of their little camp hasn't quite soured any potential camaraderie with the others, even if he is subject to a few odd looks.

Not that they could act on it even if they wanted to with Ulaz sitting just a bench away, dutifully reading his reports as he soaks his bread in broth.

“Good morning, Ulaz,” Keith grunts as he settles down next to him, tearing a hunk of his bread off and dipping it in his own bowl, “Any news?”

“Depends on the type of news you're seeking,” Ulaz replies mildly, evasive as ever, even as he offers Keith a small smile. “There's not an army bearing down on us, if that's what you're wondering.”

“Well that's good at least,” Keith huffs with a wry smile of his own, “but I was more interested in the whole, what the hell am I doing here now, sort of thing.”

“That's up to you, boy.” Ulaz doesn't bother to look up from the report again, still nibbling absently on his bread. “You're welcome to stay and train with us, knowing what you know now... or you may leave and make your own way.”

“Right, about that...” Keith scoots closer to squint at the paper, only to find an incomprehensible mass of squiggles. “What exactly does this whole training business entail? What do you all do besides hate Zarkon? Is that even a job description – actionable hatred?” He wrinkles his nose in thought and gnaws on his bread. “And what about Shiro, he can't very well leave, can he?”

“He's not a prisoner.”

It's not a yes, but not a no, and Keith feels a bit like the underfoot chimney-sweep he was at nine years old, working for a penny and a pat on the head.

“Fine, then.” He keeps his tone light, flicking a glance back to his former master as he spoons himself some broth. “I guess we'll slither out tomorrow.”

“If that's what you wish,” Ulaz replies, utterly placid as his pen continues to tick down the incomprehensible lines. “Feel free to grab provisions from the kitchen.”

Keith does not pout. He doesn't... perhaps he sulks, just a bit.

“But maybe we won't,” he muses aloud, sniffing airily as if it makes no difference to him whether he has a bed to sleep in or food in his belly. “What would training entail?”

“Blade work, grappling, espionage,” Ulaz grunts, still pouring over the paper before him, “you're no scribe, lad, not really.” Keith's mouth twists into half a scowl, brow wrinkling. “Don't give me that look – I know you know your letters... but a thieving, dock working, grave digger doesn't become a house pet overnight.”

“Wasn't thieving.”

He was. He was thieving... but there's no way Ulaz knows that and if life has taught him anything up to this point it's to never admit to something you can plausibly deny.

Ulaz merely spares him a crooked eyebrow before going back to his parchment.

“Not thieving then,” he amends with a hint of sarcasm. “An honest, utterly unimpeachable, blameless, dock working, grave digger.”

The blade across from them, Regris if he recalls correctly, snickers quietly into his broth.

“Something to say?” Keith asks him mildly, ignoring the fluttering muscle under his eye.

“You got the eyes, kid.” Regris grins at him, handsome in a lopsided sort of way. “I'd bet you could clear a man's pockets before he could tell you the time.”

He's not wrong, per se... but Keith still vaguely resents the implication. It had been hard work to climb out of the city's underbelly and into honest jobs after working at the behest of the slum bosses for so long.

“Don't bristle like that, lad.” Ulaz finally sets his pen down, scrubbing a hand between weary eyes as he turns toward Keith. “He means well, and it'll serve you to hang onto those skills if you're looking to stay.”

“Is that what you lot are then? Thieves?”

“Yeap.” It's an unapologetic grunt from across the table, drawing a weary sigh from Ulaz – like he's had this discussion dozens of times and regrets every one of them. “Thievery, assassination, arson...” Regris ticks off on his fingers, face scrunched as he looks into the rafters. “Sometimes legitimate bodyguard jobs... sometimes illegitimate bodyguard jobs... lots of espionage?”

“Lots of espionage,” Ulaz agrees with a sigh. “But we don't take work we don't believe in.”

“Mercenaries with a conscience.” Keith snorts, shaking his head as he dunks the remainder of his loaf. “Is that why you live in the middle of nowhere?”

“Land on the moors is cheap,” Kolivan grunts behind him as he plunks down on Keith's other side, effectively bracketing him in. “And it keeps us out of that godforsaken city with its cursed rain and poison air.”

“Fair enough.”

It's not like Keith can argue that point, having spent most of his life under green-grey clouds and choking miasma.

“Besides,” Ulaz adds lightly, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “I don't think the city dwellers would appreciate your... _companion's_ presence.”

Keith can feel the heat creeping across his cheeks and toward the tips of his ears. Regris is snickering across the table again, but he doesn't know him quite well enough to kick him in the shins as he'd like to.

“They wouldn't be able to see him anyway,” he grumbles instead, taking a sullen bite of his soggy bread. “You said I'm not supposed to.”

“You'd be surprised,” Kolivan hums, turning a thoughtful gaze toward the rest of their band of misfits. “More people than you'd care to know have been touched by the komar... where do you think we all came from?”

“Prison, I'd imagine.” It's a petty dig, but Keith's feeling that pettiness to his bones today after being left in limbo.

“You're not wrong.” Kolivan shrugs, nudging him with an elbow like he might a petulant child. “But enough of us in this world have seen the inside of a cell or the graveyard to see your naga just as clearly.”

“Fine. I guess I can help you,” Keith huffs, like it was ever really in question whether he'd be staying with the two men who'd saved his hide. Besides, he can't say he doesn't have his own agenda here. “Ulaz... about my knife...”

“Your mother's, yes.” Ulaz offers a small smile, flicking a glance over his head to Kolivan. “I believe it's safe to say...”

“She's alive, on assignment,” Kolivan grunts in agreement, politely ignoring the sharp inhale beside him. “Can't wait until she hears we let her lost lad bond with a snake...”

“Nobody _lets_ me do anything,” Keith grumbles, studiously ignoring his own blush. “And I haven't bonded with anyone.”

“No?” Ulaz cuts him a look of surprise, setting his pen down again as he scoots away. “Don't let him smell us on you then, I don't care for a berserk naga in my house.”

“ _Our_ house,” Kolivan grunts.

“Our house.” Ulaz rolls his eyes and scoots another inch. “If he hasn't completed it yet...” He trails off with a grimace.

“He's not going to go berserk,” Keith scoffs, pushing his bowl away as he makes to stand. “He hasn't done anything but sleep for days now anyway.”

“Conserving energy for the main event,” Kolivan mutters, dragging a hand across his suddenly pale face. “Lad, do us a favor and scrub off before you go back with his meal.”

Keith flaps a hand behind him as he walks away from the long table, sick to death of being told the 'what' without the 'why' – which is why he grabs a bowl and another hunk of bread and makes his way back to their hastily adjoined room _without_ washing, thank you very much. Like they know anything more about Shiro than he does... they're not the ones that have been in close quarters with the sleepy snake for days on end.

He bumps the door to their room open with his hip, not minding the squeaking hinges so much this time as he settles the bowl on the little table near the door before glancing up to wake his snakefriend.

Except... the nest is empty.

The piles of bedding and straw that had housed the glistening coils have been strewn around the edges of the little bowl-shaped depression – with his decoy flung into the far corner of the room.

“Huh.” Keith shuts the door behind him, peering around their ramshackle room in confusion. It's not like he could miss Shiro and his lengths of gleaming scales in the little space... he'd probably bump into him even if he was blind with all the floor space he normally occupies. Perhaps he went to explore the grounds? Or to relieve himself? Honestly Keith isn't quite sure of the specifics of his anatomy, or how the possum is going to be coming back out of him...

He sighs and plods over to the lip of the nest, flopping himself over the edge of it and tipping his head back with closed eyes while he considers his options. It's not like Shiro doesn't also have free reign of the grounds, he's just been reticent about exercising that freedom. He's probably out stretching his... tail? Or maybe finding more furry snacks instead of subsisting on broth and bread.

Keith sighs into the empty room.

The room sighs back, ruffling the bangs on his forehead.

His eyes snap open as he scrambles to sit upright in the nest, only to be pinned by a pair of slitted yellow eyes glowering at him from the rafters.

“Gods below, Shiro...” he wheezes out, bringing a hand to his racing heart. “Some warning next time, if you would.”

There's a groaning of wood from the rafters as Shiro's coils writhe above him, like a seething mass of glimmering gems where the morning light strikes his scales.

“Oh, will there be a next time?” It's a soft, sibilant rasp, punctuated by the agitated flick of a tongue as Shiro all but glares down at him. “I wasn't aware I was sharing.”

“Sharing... what?” Keith squints up at him, an uncomfortable awareness of his companion's nature beginning to creep in as Shiro moves to drop a coil, unblinking. “I got you your own bowl of broth.”

“ _Broth_.” Shiro scoffs, eyes narrowing further as he pushes his chest up from his coils and slowly lowers himself toward the nest. “More like brothel, judging by the scent of things.” His clawed hand strikes out in a flash, wrapping around a fistful of Keith's shirt and yanking him up close enough for the forked tongue to slide over his cheek, a whisper of fangs dragging behind. “You _stink_.”

“Excuse _you_ ,” Keith hisses back, neck jerking away from those teeth. “I scrubbed down yesterday... I haven't seen _you_ leave to do any cleaning.”

“I haven't been leaving the den to go offering myself around either,” Shiro sneers, tongue flickering in distaste as he scents the air. “Couldn't wait could you? Couldn't help yourself... had to go find-” he flicks his tongue again with a scowl, “-three others to satisfy you?”

“What the hell are you talking about-” Keith brings his hands up to clench ineffectually at Shiro's wrist, even as he begins to break out in a nervous sweat. “-I went to get breakfast, what is your _problem_ -”

“My _problem_ , little mate, is that I can't seem to take a day or two to recover without you running off to find satisfaction somewhere else... tell me, what did you have for breakfast? Sausage and cream?”

Shiro spits the words like venom, fist tightening as he hauls Keith closer to his face. It takes every ounce of self control in his body not to headbutt the scaly bastard right then and there.

“Put me down. Right now.” He grits the words out through clenched teeth, glaring up into Shiro's equally narrowed eyes-

-and winds up unceremoniously tossed on his ass into the tatters of the nest as Shiro slithers down from the rafters with alarming speed. He nearly reaches for his knife before his better self kicks in, reminding him that he's dealing with someone who could snap his neck between heartbeats... but also someone who likely would have done so already if that was his intent.

“Shiro-” he starts, hands up in placation as he wills himself to relax under the hungry scrutiny of the predator before him. “Let's start over... I brought you food over on the table... I ate with Ulaz and Kolivan-”

“And the third?” Shiro cuts him off with a lash of his tail, shoulders taut as a bowstring as he looms over Keith.

“Regris ate across from us at the table... you know him, he was at the manor when we escaped.”

The hiss of air that escapes between gleaming fangs is akin to a petulant scoff – but not disbelieving.

“Why did you need to see them?” Shiro presses him, coils rapidly closing in, sliding over Keith's ankles and calves. “Am I not enough for you?”

“Don't you want to know what their agenda is?” Keith pushes back, refusing to flinch as he's slowly but surely bound. “I'm not keen on living in ignorance forever – and some of us can't just sleep all day.”

“I was _recovering._ ” Shiro bristles, baring his fangs in agitation. “I've been stuck in a cage, starved and tortured for the better part of a decade – _forgive me for wanting to sleep for a day or two._ ”

Keith recoils from Shiro's anger as best he can as the writhing muscle begins to tighten around him. Their room suddenly seems much smaller as Shiro looms over him, broad shoulders flaring as his jaw works in agitation.

“Shiro, wait _,_ ” he pants out as his feet begin to prickle with numbness, “I don't understand why you're so angry-”

“I'm _angry,_ ” Shiro hisses, leaning close enough for his tongue to tickle Keith's cheek, “because my mate is wandering around _markless_ , in the middle of my rut, just _daring_ someone to usurp my claim!”

“I don't know what that means!” Keith yanks his arms up in a futile effort to avoid being bound entirely. “I was just getting food and-” He cuts off with a pained gasp as a coil crushes around his ribs. “Shiro, _you're hurting me-”_

The coils loosen all at once as Shiro lurches away from him, heaving himself back on clawed hands as his tail lashes in his haste to put space between them.

“Keith, I-” he shakes his head, blinking at him in dawning horror as Keith rubs at his ribs with a wince. “I didn't mean-”

“I don't know _what_ you meant,” Keith cuts him off, wheezing as he scrambles into the far corner of the nest, tucking his knees to his body. “But I don't fucking care for it.”

“I'm... sorry,” Shiro hisses pitifully, pupils going round and panicked as he coils himself into a tight knot of scales. “It's the rut, I can't think clearly-”

“I don't know what a rut is,” Keith growls at him, thoroughly frustrated with that word being flung around by everyone under the sun, “but you don't get to kill me over it.”

“Not kill... never kill you...” It's little more than a mournful whisper, but Keith isn't inclined toward pity when his ribs are still aching. “I need to... to mark you.”

“Mark like what.” Keith glares at him, yanking a pant leg up to show the red marks from constriction. “Like that?”

“Nooo,” Shiro whines, ducking his head into his coils in shame and covering it with his hands. “Never hurt you... I need to... to make you my mine.”

Keith scowls at him a moment longer as the smarting ache in his legs and ribs begins to fade. If he were a stronger man – maybe a smarter man – he'd get the hell out of here while he still can, maybe get Ulaz and Kolivan to restrain Shiro... but he's never been known for wisdom.

“Hey,” he grunts out, not quite unkindly, even as he creeps wary inches closer in the nest. “Is this a... you know... like a sex thing? You're not gonna like... eat me, right?”

The pile of hair and arms shakes from side to side before a pair of slitted eyes peek up at him. “I don't want to eat you... you're mine.”

“I think I'm mine, actually, thank you...” Keith grumbles, but shifts ever closer, painfully aware that Shiro can almost certainly hear the hammering of his heart. “I didn't know that uh... that you needed to... seal the deal.”

“I won't seal anything,” Shiro assures him, bottom lip sticking out ridiculously between his fangs. “I just need to... _want_ to... to mark you. Inside.”

“Inside-” Keith sputters, bringing a hand to cover his face as he flushes to the tips of his ears. “Why inside?”

“The scent stays longer.” Shiro flicks his tongue out, nose wrinkling in distaste at the reminder that Keith smells like the other blades. “You might smell outside... but _I_ will smell inside.”

“That's...” Keith sighs out a gusting breath, shaking his head at the hopeful snake's logic. “You know no one else can tell, right?”

“I can tell.”

The naga is pouting. The massive, monstrous, several hundred pound predator made of scales like steel and dagger claws... is pouting.

Keith sighs again, feeling particularly put upon even as Shiro begins to uncoil and remind him exactly what kind of powerful body he has. “Couldn't you have done this earlier without trying to crush me?”

“I was sleepy.” Shiro offers him a tentative shrug, holding one hand out and preening when Keith wraps his fingers around it. “When I woke up you were gone...”

“I was getting breakfast!” Keith huffs up at him, thoroughly annoyed even as he lets himself be led into that scaled embrace. “For you!”

“Because you are a kind mate,” Shiro agrees, palm stroking down Keith's flank as he draws him in close. “You bring us soup... and possums.”

Keith doesn't point out that the possum brought itself, too distracted by the way his thighs are forced to spread as he's seated on the join of Shiro's torso and tail.

“I do want to take care of you,” he offers instead, reaching up to plant his palm against Shiro's chest, reveling in the feeling of the slow but steady thump against his skin. “I wish I had known what you needed earlier.”

“So do I.” Shiro dips low to nuzzle against Keith's hair, tongue darting out to trail the shell of his ear in a slide that makes Keith shiver. “I forget you are... not like me.”

“I think we're alike in the ways the count.” Keith smiles up at him, tilting to bump their noses together, then tipping to capture cold lips in a sigh of breath. The clawed hand spanning his hips clenches, even as the other reaches to cup his chin ever so gently. He can feel the muscles under him trembling with the effort of his restraint as Shiro presses back, careful of his fangs. “Will you mark me now?” he whispers against Shiro's mouth.

His answer is a writhing shudder that courses through the body beneath his own, and the sudden dragging grip that rolls his hips down. The long forked tongue flicks between his teeth, exploring his mouth as Keith gasps at the friction – unfamiliar but not altogether unpleasant. He can feel his own heart start to gallop in his chest as he's rolled down over his scaled vent, blood heating at the answering press from within, squirming against him like he'd imagined weeks before.

“Shiro,” he sighs, leaning into his muscled chest and squeezing, marveling at the smooth glide of his hands across glistening pectorals. “Gods below, you're beautiful.”

Shiro lets out a rattling hiss, abs rippling as he rolls his hips and tail upward. In a blink the hand cradling Keith's hips has snagged the rough-spun fabric covering them, shredding it from his body and leaving Keith bare from the waist down with his tunic following shortly after. Now he can feel the slick ooze creeping from beneath him, suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to see his prize up close. It doesn't take much wriggling to get Shiro to let him ease himself lower, coating the underside of his cock in pearlescent fluid as he explores the vent with curious fingers. The tip of one prehensile cock curls around his ring finger, almost shy as it slips out to play. The other isn't far behind, exploring the wrist of his opposite hand, leaving a sticky-slick webbing between Keith's fingers as it goes.

“Keith,” Shiro groans, letting himself fall back onto his mass of coils as Keith busies himself with his new friends. His tongue hangs out now as he pants, black and forked, and Keith is dying to know how it would feel wrapped around him... but there are two other pressing matters closer at hand. The slide is torturous as he pumps a hand along each of Shiro's shafts, watching in rapture as they writhe against him, dribbling nectar from their tips.

He can't resist bringing one hand to his mouth for a taste, groaning at the salty-sweet burst on his tongue, the finest ambrosia – it only makes sense after that to lean down and lap at it from the source, drawing a shout from Shiro as he sucks hard on one wriggling tip. Of course, it nearly chokes him when it seeks out the damp heat of his throat, curling against his tongue as its twin smears a sticky trail down his cheek... but it's so good he can't stop, can barely think beyond the taste coating his tongue-

“Keith!” There's a hand tangled in his hair, gently pulling him off – drooling and covered in sticky-sweet heaven. “Dear little one, it's envenomed,” Shiro croons to him, wiping away a trail from Keith's lip and laughing as his little mate surges up to share the taste of ecstasy.

Keith wouldn't have a thought to care about the venom if he had one to spare – which he certainly doesn't. His world has narrowed down to a technicolor fever of glistening scales and muscles calling to him, begging to fill him up... and who is he to deny nature? Scrabbling for Shiro's hands, he twines their fingers and levers himself forward, sliding hot and slick against Shiro's slit with a moan far too loud for their surroundings.

Shiro meets it with one of his own, wrapping a corded forearm around Keith's waist and holding him steady as they rock together. Keith can feel the insistent writhing of one tip against his hole as the other wraps cool and sticky around his cock. He can't decide which sensation to chase, huffing out desperate panting whines as he tries to get Shiro to breach him, to stroke him, to do _anything_.

“Shiro, please-” He arches as best he can, reluctantly pulling one hand away from Shiro's own to hold himself open from behind. “-please.”

Shiro hisses low in his throat, a terrifying guttural thing at any other time, but now it sends Keith spiraling higher. Claws prick carefully as they settle opposite Keith's own hand, pulling him open fully as Shiro's rocking finally, _finally_ slips the tapered head of his first cock inside. It's like nothing else – ambrosia leaking directly into him, the stretch and burn soothed by the cool slide, the pulsing wriggling seeking out every spot inside him to wring pleasure from his body. It's overwhelming, suffocating bliss. He can barely keep his eyes open as Shiro begins to rock into him in earnest, sliding down to the root and grinding deep as his cock pulses and twists within – he'd nearly forget about his own entirely if it wasn't twisted up in the clasp of Shiro's other, leaving him in a dizzying haze of feeling.

“Keith, I need to-” Shiro rasps, spine bowing and claws prickling into Keith's tender flesh, “please, let me-”

He chokes out a desperate agreement, lost in his own pleasure, and Shiro pushes himself in impossibly deeper and begins to pulse cool sticky waves into Keith's body. It's too much and not enough all at the same time – he's so full, so wonderfully, beautifully full – he can feel it leaking out around where they're joined, dripping back onto Shiro's scales like the sheen of oil on water. There are tears blurring his vision and the _pressure_ -

Shiro's second cock uncoils from the twist it had around Keith's base, dipping along his weeping purple tip even as Shiro brings one clawed hand up to stroke them together. Barely a brush against Keith's swollen flesh and he's gone, howling his release and clenching down around him as Shiro spills onto his stomach and chest in turn. It's utter euphoria, every drop of pleasure wrung from his body as it falls limp against Shiro's chest, too tired to do anything but heave shuddering breaths against him. Even the feeling of one cool cock sliding out of him is merely a dim discomfort that has him moaning weakly, hips shifting as Shiro's spend trickles out of him and onto his own tail.

He's going to lay here for the next year, or however long it takes until he can feel his legs again.

Distantly, he becomes aware of a rumbling beneath him – humming, he thinks – as clawed fingers rake through his sweaty, tangled hair.

“Mmnn?”

“Hello my little mate,” Shiro croons down at him, one hand spanning the entirety of Keith's rib cage as it settles against his back, “you did so well.”

“Wassat what you needed?” Keith slurs into his abs, letting his eyes drift shut. “Was inside.”

“And out,” Shiro sighs, smug as can be as he continues to rub his spill into Keith's skin. “You'll never wash the scent off now.”

“Good.” It's barely a grunt as Keith nuzzles in with a yawn, drifting on a wave of lethargic contentment and the near certainty that Shiro isn't going to eat him now...

… speaking of...

“Shiro,” he croaks, struggling to heave himself onto an elbow so he can aim a baleful glare at his mate properly, meeting bewildered yellow eyes with all the annoyance he can muster. “You let your soup get cold.”


End file.
